OLVE: By Lantern's Light
by Hydriatus
Summary: The Kingdom of Mistral is but one of several outposts of civilization, and hosts the prestigious Lantern Academy. Within its halls, new Hunters and Huntresses are trained, ready to battle the beasts of the wilds. But there are far more threats than just beasts that prowl in the shadows of Mistral.
1. O Trailer

**O**

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><p>"Really, headmaster?" said the man with a supressed sigh. "Something about scraping the bottoms of barrels comes to mind," he added, looking the other man straight in the eye.<p>

Professor Portokal, the headmaster of Lantern, just sat behind his desk, fingers drumming on its flat top. "Yes Mavros. I am aware that Acker's reputation is somewhat…poor, but you cannot deny the man's skill," he replied evenly, pulling open a drawer in his desk to fish out a glass and bottle of whisky. Mavros had always been at odds with Acker. The men had never managed to see eye to eye, ever since they had both been students.

Mavros snorted. "Being good at something and being good at teaching it are two different things, Chiron," he pointed out, freely making use of the headmaster's first name. Portokal's eyebrow twitched as he poured himself a drink. He hated it when people called him by his first name. He hadn't spent decades working hard and becoming the headmaster of a Hunstman Academy just to be called out like some common man on the street. Mavros pushed on before he could interrupt. "Besides, what makes you think he would even want to come back here?"

"He owes me," replied Portokal with a glare that managed to shut up the other teacher for a moment. "So as long as you make sure to emphasise that the request is coming from me, he'll come along. He won't like it, but he won't argue either."

Mavros gritted his teeth. "Alright. Where can I find him?"

* * *

><p>"DAMN YOU PORTOKAL!" screamed Mavros in frustration, aiming a kick at a small pebble lying in his path and sending it twirling away off the mountain. "AND DAMN YOU ACKER!" he added for good measure. Of course that brainless dolt would chose to live on a mountain. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do, claiming it as a 'supreme vantage point'. The sun was shining brightly above as the teacher lapsed into quitter grumbling as he continued marching up the rocky path. That had been the sixth plateau he had managed to reach, and he was still to come across any signs of habitation. Not even a fossilised candy wrapper.<p>

He was beginning to suspect Portokal had no actual idea where Acker was, and had just sent him up a mountain in Vale for little more than a cheap laugh at his expense. His mind filled with thoughts of righteous vengeance, Mavros continued following the path. It had to lead somewhere, and he owed it to himself to at least find out where Portokal had sent him before wreaking bloody havoc on the man.

That was when he hit the tripwire.

The man froze as he heard the tingling of a small bell, eyes darting about as his muscles tensed, ready to dodge in case any attack came his way. He stayed like that for a full minute, his senses enveloping the area around him. Nothing happened. He allowed himself to relax slightly. Maybe this was just Ackers interpretation of what a doorbell was. If so, then he was certainly on the right track after all. A shame. He had begun looking forwards to smacking Portokal in the face with his mace.

Resuming his walk up the mountain, Mavros' thoughts turned to the man he had been sent to retrieve. Acker had been in Haven alongside himself and Portokal over two decades ago, and had proven himself to be quite the survivalist. The man could survive anywhere, which was why the headmaster wanted him to teach that particular class in the coming year, something Mavros privately agreed with. Acker was an insufferable optimist, but he knew how to spit in the face of nature.

He walked for another ten minutes before he came to another plateau, this one decorated with a small cabin built against the rock face. Wooden planks with stone laid against them…quaint. Just what he would expect of Acker. Mavros shook his head as he walked up to the door and knocked twice, his knuckles rapping against the wood. He heard shuffling from inside, before the door creaked open. Mavros blinked. "Acker?" he asked, all of a sudden back in Haven, back on that day when he needed a blasted history textbook that the idiot had checked out the library and forgotten to return.

"...yes?" the youth in front of him asked, his expression neutral save for a slightly raised eyebrow.

Mavros blinked. What the...that couldn't be right. That had been over twenty years ago. Acker couldn't have managed not to age...and his eyes hadn't been green either...oh no. "Uhm...Allan Acker?" he asked.

The youth shook his head. "No...Owain. Allan was my father."

Oh no. It had happened. Acker had had children. They were doomed. Mavros coughed politely, trying to stop staring at the impossibility before him as he continued. "Well...could I see your father?"

The youth, Acker's…son (the thought made him wince) looked at him for a moment as if studying him before nodding. "One moment," he said and shut the door, leaving Mavros standing outside, his mind still wrestling with what he had just witnessed. Acker had had a son. A son. How?! He hadn't even had a girlfriend when they were in Haven, and had expressed no interest in anyone either. Most of the students simply figured him to be asexual. He never showed any interest in…well, anything remotely resembling intimacy. The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. The youth – Owain – stepped out and shut the door behind himself before walking towards the path leading ever upwards. Siletly, Mavros followed, somewhat irked at the youth's lack of respect for guests.

Then again, he doubted the…Ackers…had many guests. Urgh…pluralising that name was almost painful. One was bad enough…

* * *

><p>He had spoken too soon. Or thought too soon to be precise.<p>

The duo stood at the highest point one could walk up the mountain, where the path ended. Even a cynic like Mavros was forced to admit that the view was spectacular, stretching all the way to the coast. One could almost see Beacon on the horizon. A spot Acker would have loved. Probably had loved.

Which was why it was his grave.

The man and the boy stood in front of a pair of tombstones, rough rocks dragged into position and names chiselled on.

Allen Acker. Dahlia Acker.

Mavros sighed and glanced at the young man next to him. He was somewhere in his late teens, probably at the age to being Huntsman training. "How long?" he asked.

"Two years now. An old nemean was moving through the valley, and shrugged off most of their attacks. Dad bled out, and mom's wounds got infected…they weakened her, and she didn't last the winter."

"I'm sorry," Mavros said.

"It's alright. They were Hunters. It happens," shrugged Owain. The teacher supposed that any tears the boy had had been shed long ago. "So what did you want my father for?" he asked, still looking at the twin graves.

"An…old friend wanted his help," the man explained, suddenly feeling his age as he sighed, tired.

"I…see. Can I help?" Owain offered, looking at Mavros, still lacking anything resembling an expression on his face.

Mavros smiled ruefully and shook his head. "No…you're too young to be teaching. You should…" he said, before a thought struck him. "Wait, what do you actually do?"

Owain blinked, not having expected that question. "You mean, here?"

"Yes."

"I hunt. I survive," the boy answered, as if it was obvious.

"…do people come by often?"

"You're the first."

There was more of Acker in his son than was good for anyone. "You've been living on this mountain, alone, for two years?"

"Yes."

Mavros was quiet before staring at Acker's grave. It was. It really was. The idiot had raised another idiot to plague the following generation. Still, he doubted the woodsman would have wanted his son to be a hermit…"Tell me…what do you want to do?"

"Want?" Owain asked, curious. That was a question that had never been posed to him before.

"Well, you can hardly stay here. I doubt your parents would have wanted that kind of life for you," the teacher continued, turning to face Owain. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Owain seemed to think on this before answering. "…true."

"So, what do you want to do?" Mavros asked again.

"I…I don't really know…" replied Owain, his eyes falling as he pondered the uncomfortable truth Mavros had presented. He knew his parents would've wanted him to go to town, to settle down and live, but…he just never found the right moment to bring himself to leave them.

"You ever think about being a Huntsman?" Mavros asked casually, looking at Acker's name on the stone. Damn Acker. He never did pay him back that fifty lien he owed him either.

"A huntsman? Like dad?" asked the boy. Mavros nodded in answer. "I…have thought about it…but you need things like tests and schooling. I was supposed to start last year but…"

"Don't worry. If you want to become a huntsman, I know a man who might be able to help…" he replied. Portokal would understand. The man had been one of Acker's friends after all. And if Mavros had to put up with Acker when he had been training to be a huntsman, he would be damned if he denied that trial to the next generation. "What do you say?"

Owain seemed to think it over before nodding. "I…I think I'd like to try. Dad always spoke of helping people as being the noblest duty…"

Mavros nodded. On that, he had agreed with back in Haven. "Alright. Go gather your things. We'll be going as soon as you're ready."

Owain nodded, before glancing at the tombstones. He seemed to debate something in his mind before speaking. "I'll need an hour." Somehow, Mavros wasn't surprised. He doubted the boy had much in the way of personal possessions. Especially if what he suspected was true – that he had been raised in that cabin his whole life.

The teacher watched the boy leave before turning back to the gravestones. "Alright…I'll take care of him for you. But not for-for you, understand?" he said, glaring at Acker's name on the stone. He could just see the man smirking at him.

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><p><em>Owain Acker – Hunter. Green.<em>


	2. L Trailer

**L**

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><p>He lay on his bed, idly flicking through a book, one eye on the clock by his bedside. Another hour before he had to leave. The blond turned the page and frowned, trying to memorise the words and images on the pages. It seemed like a good move, but it relied too much on reaction speed. A lot of fighters had very good agility and speed. But against someone who focused more on strength, it would be much more effective.<p>

Luke sighed as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He had been reading for two hours straight now, trying to memorise all the manoeuvres the manual contained. He doubted they would help him, but some part of him held onto that hope. He hadn't really found a style that fit him yet, after all. So far, the only thing he was anywhere near proficient with was a shield. Luckily, his mother didn't know that. She would have been outraged and demanded he find a private tutor to improve. He sighed again and closed the book, putting it on the bedside cabinet before stretching out. It wasn't his fault he wasn't confrontational. There was nothing wrong with being defensive. Sooner or later your opponent would tire themselves out, and then you could safely retreat.

Yet it seemed like he was the only one to see things that way. Everyone else kept going on about victory and vanquishing their opponents. He shook his head as he lay in bed. Maybe he was just not cut out for the life of a huntsman, no matter what his mother thought. The blond smiled slightly. She'd never accept that. It wasn't as if he could do anything else. He sat up, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced at the clock. Still over half an hour. He sighed. Whatever, he'd just head there early. Not like he had anything else to do.

* * *

><p>Their training sessions were run in the old sports hall, near the stadium. Their teacher was already there, always an hour early to set things up. The old man, Oker, had been forced to retire as a Huntsman after losing his leg. He got around with a simple wooden prosthetic, which clacked on the polished floor every time he moved. The man had elected to become a tutor, and refused a number of positions with various academies and schools, preferring to teach those who lacked such support.<p>

Luke got on well with him, as far as things went. Sure, he was a failure as a student, but Oker never held it against him, having him try out as many weapons as possible until he found one that felt right in his hands. That they had gone through the whole armoury had left him somewhat frustrated though. Still, Oker was confident Luke would find something to suit him eventually. The boy himself was far less optimistic.

The rest of the class had long ago moved onto sparring sessions, having found weapons that suited their preferred style of combat, and mastered the basic manoeuvres associated with them. Luke leaned against the wall of the hall, lights glowing in all the windows as he waited for the class to begin, hands in his pockets. Maybe Oker would finally give up, declare him a failure and send him home. The blond shook his head. No, the old man would never do that, even if it was the easiest option. Actually, probably because it was the easiest option. The man would always pick the harder choice when it came to decision making.

He shivered as the evening gloom deepened. Slowly the other students began to arrive, and trudged into the hall with nods or waves of welcome. Luke smiled and responded, though he never met their eyes, loathing to see the pity that was undoubtedly there. Ten minutes passed like that before he entered at last, the chill of the air outside replaced by the recycled warmth of the hall interior. He was already in his workout clothes, and set about doing his warm-up stretches whilst the other students changed.

"Ah, Luke, good," said Oker, walking up to the youth, his fake leg clacking against the floor. The blond glanced up at him and nodded in welcome, smiling. He like their tutor – he was a hard man but fair, a legacy of his life as a huntsman. "There's someone I want you to meet," the man said, waving at another approaching adult. "A...well, I wouldn't say friend, but certainly someone I trust. Gelb, this is Luke Mason, the boy I talked about earlier."

Luke turned to the man Oker had introduced, and bowed his head. Obviously the man was a Huntsman. He was tall, and clad in a smart suit that was totally inappropriate for him. He could tell the man would have been more comfortable in something far more casual, easier to move in. Luke kept his mouth shut though.

"Yes, the...problem student, as you mentioned," Gelb said, looking down at Luke, pushing up the shades he was wearing with one solid finger.

Luke felt his cheeks colour in shame as he spoke. "A pleasure," he replied, making sure to keep his tone neutral. The man seemed to inspect him before nodding to himself.

"Interesting. Very well Oker, fetch the equipment."

"Uhm...what's going on?" asked Luke, looking to his tutor as he grinned.

"Gelb here is going to see what you have learned and if there is anything I have missed," Oker explained, hobbling away to fetch a selection of weapons, leaving the boy alone with the stranger.

"Oh...uh...thanks," the blond offered, unable to bring himself to meet the man's eyes, still hidden behind his shades. The man just nodded in response. Right, not much of a talker. One of those kind of teachers then. Never explaining their methods, cloaking their techniques in confusion and misdirections. Like in those old movies from Vacuo.

* * *

><p>Alright, he wasn't like those wise old mystic teachers. Gelb was a jerk. A grade A jerk. He had Luke go through all the weapons they had in the hall, going through manoeuvres and mock combat against other students, all of which he decidedly lost. And Gelb just sat there, nodding now and again as if confirming his thoughts. It was annoying, to say the least. He would only speak whenever he wanted Luke to change equipment, or start a bout, or announce a winner.<p>

It was all so frustrating. And soon enough, they ran out of equipment, and Luke was sat on the floor, panting. He had thrown all of himself into the bouts, and still failed. Some huntsman he was going to be. Maybe grimm bait was an actual job for Huntsmen? He could do that at least. Gelb was stroking his chin as he walked up to the man, studying him.

Luke looked up at him, too tired to care about what the man thought right now. "So? Got any words of wisdom to share with this poor unfortunate soul?" he asked, his shoulders slumping down.

Gelb smiled suddenly, nodding. "You do best when staying on the defensive," he observed.

Luke looked up at him. "Uh...yeah..." he replied. That much was obvious, Oker had said as much about a month ago.

"Why do you want to be a Huntsman? To slay grimm?" Gelb suddenly asked, making the blond look back up at him.

The real answer wouldn't fly, Luke knew that. Because it was expected of him by his mother. So she could be oh so proud. Never mind that he was ill suited to it. "To protect others," he said simply.

Gelb seemed to think about his answer before nodding. "A satisfactory answer. Your marksmanship is decent enough...maybe you need somehting of an irregular setup."

"W-what do you mean?"

The tall man nodded to himself and turned away from the boy. "Oker. I have it," he called as he walked across the hall towards his tutor.

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><p>It would be another week before Luke Mason realized what Gelb had meant, when Oker handed him an enrolment form for Lantern after their training session. Lantern was not an academy he had heard of, let alone applied to. Yet Oker seemed to think highly of it, and recommended the boy to attend. Apparently the student body was much smaller than in other academies, permitting a more one on one tutoring setup. That actually sounded rather intereting to the youth, so he agreed with his tutor's suggestion.<p>

His mother was somewhat unhappy that he wasn't aiming to get into Beacon, but Luke knew his transcripts would never get him in there. Plus, Lantern was all the way in Mistral – far away from his home. His mother hated that, but he welcomed it. He was almost an adult now, and he really needed his independence. Maybe the distance would lessen the pressure he felt. Maybe not. But he owed it to himself to try.

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><p><em>Luke Mason – Shieldman. Grey.<em>


	3. V Trailer

**V**

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><p>Music was life.<p>

It pulsed and beat to a rhythm not unlike her own heartbeat. It could be slow, gentle and serene…or it could be fast, frantic and wild. But it was so much more than that. It was a gentle caress, a hand guiding her through the motions, a sharp tug to alert her. Music was a friend of hers, one she sought out everywhere. It was strange though, none of her other friends ever seemed to understand her when she spoke of music. Her parents had said it was a result of her lineage – that she was much more sensitive to sounds and noises than the others.

If that was true, then she felt sorry for her friends. They would never know the joy and wonder of music, never hear its voice guiding their actions. Music was much like words – it influenced one's behaviour even if they did not realize it.

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><p>The concert had been amazing that night. Vanna's ears were still twitching at the memory as she walked down the streets of Coryth. Such beautiful melodies, reaching so many people. Music brought people together like nothing else. It was such a pity she had no talent for it herself. The thought darkened her mood momentarily before she wiped it away with another memory. The dancing! Oh that had been certainly a highlight tonight! She had done so much dancing, and it had all been so tiring!<p>

She would have stayed for the after party, but it had already gotten quite late by the time the concert had finished. She did have a big day tomorrow after all, and her parents had only let her go out after wrangling a promise out of her that she would be home no later than midnight. Coryth was a large city, and as such had all the drawbacks associated with such status. Namely, a noticeable crime rate.

Still, it was hardly as if she couldn't look after herself. Her twin daggers were sheathed and strapped to her thighs within easy reach, though some would have called them short swords. Beautiful and elegant little things, as her father had said when he had gifted them to her. They had been one of the most extravagant gifts she had ever received, her parents having been saving the lien to afford them ever since she expressed a wish to be a Huntress.

Noises drifted through the night air, at odds with the usual sounds of Coryth. Not the splash of a puddle or the skidding of a tire. No, they were footsteps. Measured, careful. Hunting. Vanna's ears twitched as she increased her pace, the footsteps speeding up accordingly. So, someone was tailing her. She bit back a sigh as her hands drifted down to undo the safety straps on the sheathes. Just in case.

It went on like this for two blocks before she grew tired and spun in place, hands on her hips as she glared down the street. "Why are you following me?" she demanded.

The man who had been following her was clearly surprised she had noticed him, but he recovered quickly, adopting a sneer on his face. Vanna immediately knew what this was about, even as he opened his mouth to confirm his intent. "Isn't it obvious?" he said, hands in his pockets. "Can't have animals roaming the streets – it sends the wrong message to other towns."

She sighed. Of course it was going to be about that. Harassment and racial slurs were an everyday occurrence for her, but this was the first time someone had actually followed her with foul intent because of her lineage. "So? You going to do something or just spend all night talking?" she said, eyes flickering to the watch on her wrist. She couldn't be late getting home after all. Her attitude seemed to annoy the man, who almost snarled as he pulled his fists out his pockets. No weapons, Vanna noted idly. Good, that meant the odds were even more in her favour. Her ears twitched as she listened. No, there was no one else around. He wasn't setting her up for an ambush. So it was exactly what it seemed like – some drunk jerk picking on a lone girl because she made an easy target. "Well?"

The man hissed in displeasure as he dropped into a low crouch before lunging into a charge. It wasn't half-bad, by her estimation. The man must have been an experienced brawler. If this had been a brawl she would have been worried. But this was a fight. And she knew how to win those. As he got close enough to strike, Vanna leapt up, right over the man's head and twirled to land behind him, her twin daggers in her hands. A show of skill and power. A cheap intimidation trick, but often enough to make her opponents realize they were up against someone far out of their league.

The man ignored the clear warning as he swung himself back around to face her, fists raised up like a boxer. He seemed unfazed by the blades in her hands. Curious. Potentially someone that was used to fighting unarmed perhaps? Vanna let a small smile creep across her face. She still had some time to spare. And with the exam tomorrow, it wouldn't hurt to get some last minute practice in.

Her assailant advanced again, much more carefully this time. Slow, measured steps, making sure his footing was stable. He had realized that she had goaded him, and adapted accordingly. Vanna was almost impressed. To reign in his emotions so swiftly, and not back down, he would have made a good student in the academy. Or maybe he had been? Her thoughts were interrupted as the man lunged forwards, jabbing his right fist out at her face.

The faunus hopped back, staying out of reach, prompting him to take a step forward and strike with his left, building up a rhythm. Left, right, right, left, right, left. Vanna continued walking backwards, staying ahead of his strikes, her weapons up and ready. She had his rhythm now. She could change the tune. Despite his mounting frustration, the man didn't give in to the urge to swing wildly. He limited himself to short, swift jabs, always dropping back into a neutral stance in case of a counter attack. Her window of opportunity was brief.

And it came when he finally shifted to a two-hit pattern, his left fist flashing out to make her move into the path of his right, which was travelling just a second behind. Instead of dodging, Vanna stepped in, deflecting his arms with the flats of her blades before slamming her heel down on the toes of his leading foot, pinning him in place. He let out an almost mewling sound as she drove the hilts of her daggers straight into his forehead with a satisfying crack. He toppled backwards with a cry, arms closing in around her as she ducked and stepped back.

"You're good," she complimented as he fell onto the ground, dazed. "Pity about your attitude though," she added with a shake of her head, daintily hopping by the fallen man, heading back down the street. He'd have a hell of a headache for a while, but other than that nothing more than a few bruises. Vanna hummed a high-tempo song to herself as she resumed her walk home.

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><p>In the end, she failed her exam. Well, no, she didn't fail-fail. She still passed with acceptable marks, but her results were nowhere near as good as she had hoped for. Her dreams of going to one of the prestigious Hunter Academies were dashed as she read the results on the screen. Her physical evaluation score had been amongst the highest, but her theoretical exam score was just barely above a passing grade.<p>

She bit her lip, trying to control her emotions. A part of her felt like crying at her failure. Another felt angry at herself for not doing…well, something that could have helped her final mark. Yet another part felt shame at her failure, a desire to scurry away to a dark cave and hide until everyone forgot about her. Her parent's would be sad, crushed even. They had had such high hopes for her. She couldn't go to Haven, not with these results. And she had never even entertained the possibility of going to Beacon – she was good, but she wasn't that good. Nowhere near actually, going by her results.

She tapped the screen, quickly flicking through the listed academies. There had to be somewhere that would take her in, even with her transcripts. She wasn't a total failure after all – she just had a marked preference for combat as opposed to more scholarly subjects. Pages flashed by on the screen as she searched through all of the academies. Vanna knew that on some level she was grasping at straws, but she had promised her parents that she would become a Huntress. And they had done everything to support her. She couldn't fail them now!

The girl's eyes suddenly lit up as she found something. A small academy, located nearby. She frowned. Wait, if it was nearby, why hadn't she heard of it? Was it new? She read the words displayed on the screen. No…not new at all. Founded a few hundred years ago, and located just down the coast. She blinked in surprise. That was…convenient. And their entry requirements seemed minimal, easily beneath even what she had scored. Maybe…maybe it would do. Yes, she thought to herself with a nod. It would do. If she could improve her marks, she could always transfer out later in the year. Perfect! She wasn't a failure! She just needed some more time to study, that's all!

Her poor mood all but forgotten, Vanna Khamsi set about filling in her application to Lantern. It was time to add a new verse to her song.

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><p><em>Vanna Khamsi – Blade Dancer. Gold.<em>


End file.
